


Grapes and schemes

by AraneaNemesis



Series: Stories We Invent – The Fourth Weaver's Tale [3]
Category: The Avengers (2012), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Dubious Ethics, F/M, Food Sex, Loki Does What He Wants, Loki Feels, light scheming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-19
Updated: 2013-07-19
Packaged: 2017-12-20 18:03:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/890216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AraneaNemesis/pseuds/AraneaNemesis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki wonders why Eileen is always up hours before him. Also, grapes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grapes and schemes

**Author's Note:**

> A little episode I wrote, anticipating a little on what will take place in the larger sequel to "Is This For Real." (in which, FYI, I will completely and willingly ignore anything happening in Thor: The Dark World)
> 
> I hope you like this!  
> (French quote from Cyrano de Bergerac)

This morning, Loki hadn’t fallen back to sleep, careful of the lights predicting dawn. It always happened when the room was grey, he’d calculated. Not when the Palace was still dipped in star light, the furniture casting deep black shadows on the flooring, not after pink dawn touched the world and stirred it awake, but at an in-between, indefinite moment when colours hadn’t won the right to existence yet.

He stayed motionless in the bed, watching the way Eileen had tangled the sheets around her waist and legs. This time, he would catch her before she slipped out of the room. Half past four by midgardian time measurement, she had told him. She always woke up at that moment and rarely stayed in bed very long once sleep had deserted her. He had never opened an eye before her. What she occupied herself at during the variable hours between the end of her sleep and his own wake, he did not know. He craved to know.

He didn’t hear or see anything, but he felt her waking up. The energy that had been dormant, in all senses of the word, up to this moment, stirred and glowed. But she didn’t move. He shut his eyes and grinned inwardly, knowing she was making sure he was asleep. He now just had to wait.

Soon her felt her weight off the bed and heard light footsteps. When he attempted a peek, her grey silhouette was bending over the washbasin. He observed her running damp fingers in her hair, rubbing what he knew for a fact was ice-cold water on her neck and shoulders, splashing some more to her face. His eyes followed a small drop dripping down her arm and reaching her side as she stretched, unhurriedly, rib after rib, extending her arms high towards the ceiling, perching on her toes. She assessed the full functionality of every limb, every joint, and every square inch of skin.

He’d already seen her do that many a time, before and after training, but at training she didn’t wear a transparent night dress. The garment allowed him to see everything of the large picture on her back, the leaves, the web, and the skull he always imagined was laughing at him, and also the outline of her hips, the curve of her waist, the roundness of a breast. He considered getting up and joining her there and then, but closed his eyes instead when he saw her whirl and head towards the bed again. She slipped back between the sheets in complete silence, the fabric merely gliding on her skin. He made a point not to move, staying on his back and breathing evenly.

“I know the difference between when you’re sleeping and when you’re pretending, Loki,” she said softly. He grinned when she rested her hand on his bare chest. “Don’t give me that smile and look at me.”

He obeyed and played confusion. “How could you possibly tell?”

“You don’t look half as dangerous when you’re really asleep,” she answered. “And I’ve had plenty of mornings to discover that.”

“Well… from now on,” he said, his finger trailing the veins on the back of her hand, “I will be able to be sure you’re sleeping too.” She wasn’t quick enough to conceal the grimace his words brought to her face. “What is it?” he asked. “You don’t seem to like the idea.”

“That’s probably because I don’t,” she snapped back, her face closing.

He felt he had hit a sensitive spot and deliberated whether to investigate any further. He had a fair idea of what her answer would be and he wanted her to tell him. But maybe it was a little too early in the morning to risk angering her. They had been an entire week without either of them silent treating the other, mostly due to some attacks they’d had to face coming from everyone in the palace. They spent a lot of time devising and implementing plans to get back at these people in one way or another, and he could sense she was secretly preparing a little surprise for him, hopefully involving his enemies humiliated and defeated. He didn’t want to ruin the mood.

But then again, he knew he was good enough a manipulator to make her speak without stirring an aggressive reaction. A mild irritation he could deal with. Easily. “What troubles you so much in knowing I saw you asleep?”

Her fingers twitched on his skin and he caught her hand. She was staring hard at the bedposts, it seemed. “You know what I’m going to say anyway,” she mumbled. He understood she didn’t even want to pretend dodging his questions and he simply nodded. “I’m vulnerable enough when I’m awake and walking. I don’t want you to see me at my weakest.”

He observed her in silence for a minute. He’d been right about her fears, again. She wanted to be more of everything, always more. Stronger, swifter, harder. Always better. He couldn’t find it in him to deny her that quest for perfection, he even encouraged her. But he realized he disliked the idea of her keeping from him, trying, somehow, to protect herself from his presence, despite all the words of trust and – affection she kept repeating. “This barely makes sense,” he told her.

She let out a brittle laugh. “What’s the point of making sense?” He almost shook his head. It still astonished him to discover the strange notions she got into her head, sometimes. She abandoned her scrutiny of the knots in the wood and graced him with one of what he called her in-between looks. She was seeing him, but seeing something else at the very same time. She never told him what.

He held her gaze. They stayed motionless for half a minute, the staring awakening subdued warmth between his hips. He picked his words to trigger an instinctive reaction. “Sleep is far from being your weakest,” he said. “Do I need to remind you that I have seen you dead?” She tensed up but didn’t look away. “Twice,” he added in a whisper.

He was surprised that she grinned back. He had expected her to reclaim her hand, turn her back to him, stifle insults or maybe tears. Definitely not a wicked twitch of her lips. She was learning control; soon he wouldn’t be able to tell when she lied. “Then you owe me,” she enunciated carefully. Something purple gleamed in her black eyes and want speared his body.

“And how can I repay my debt, my dark lady?” He relished the goose bumps on her skin at the sound of this nickname.

And blessed his brilliant idea of staying awake when she rolled over and straddled him, resting both hands on his stomach. “I want…” she paused and pretended to think. “I want you to tell me,” she continued, leaning over him, her thighs pressing against his hips, “to tell me of your fears,” she concluded. He frowned. “The real, deep rooted ones,” she added into his ear. The soft fabric of the nightdress brushed his abs and he shivered. “I want to know what disturbs Loki’s peaceful slumbers,” she slurred.

A lock of hair fell on his face and he tucked it back behind her ear. “Are you sure you want to know that much?” he asked

“Yes, I’m sure.” _He_ wasn’t. He was unable to decide whether this was just some game aimed at arousing him, or a strange form of revenge disguised as such a game. She had already mocked craving for so-called secrets so he would pretend to cave in to her authority, and he’d always been able to tell that she didn’t really care. But now he could feel a strange intensity, a sincerity to her demands. Her entire body hummed with the energy inside her, he could feel it on his own skin. She straightened up and looked down to him, her eyes unyielding. “Tell me,” she commanded.

And in that bed, his hands on her hips, where he could have easily laughed and lifted her away and make her scream allegiance out of pain or pleasure or both, at that moment of the day when light greyed everything, when she seemed more powerful than ever, more beautiful and terrible and… and _dangerous_ than he had ever seen her, he obeyed her voice. “I fear the Fall,” he answered. But he didn’t even know what he meant by that. He’d always believed he was afraid of failure, of being ordinary, of discovering that he was not better than the others, after all. But the Fall? What was this new trick of hers? Why had he said these words, words he had no control over?

Yet she seemed satisfied enough with his answer. She smiled, bent over and kissed him. He parted his lips eagerly, letting her teeth graze over his. He closed his eyes, fingers sinking in her skin, but she retreated as soon as he tried to slip his tongue deeper. He almost whined in frustration. “All of us fall, Loki,” she said. The vibration of power was gone; she’d obtained what she wanted from him, and all fear had left him, leaving only an overwhelming hunger for her. He wanted to feel her, burn her, let her burn him. Now. From the way she looked at him, he could tell that she knew. There was no possible way she could ignore it anyway.

“All of us fall,” his hoarse voice echoed. He tried to tint his tone with a little mockery at her melodramatic announcement of a so-called fact of life, but failed.

She bit his lower lip again, and, resting her forehead on his, her eyes tightly shut, she whispered a few words in French, as if they were an ancient incantation. “Dans ce trajet si court de la branche à la terre,” she said, “Comme elles savent mettre une beauté dernière ! Et malgré leur terreur de pourrir sur le sol, Veulent que cette chute ait la grâce d’un vol.” _(X)_ He kissed her as she smiled. “It means –”

“I know what it means,” he interrupted her. Of course he knew, it came from one of the books she had demanded. “So are we akin to the leaves on your back? Condemned to fall?”

She coiled up again. “But free to fall in the way we want.”

He tried to sit up but she pinned him down. _So much stronger_ , he told himself. _Stronger every time._ He didn’t resist. “And ours will be the most beautiful of all,” he said. He slid a hand up her thigh, making it clear that he’d had enough talking.

All trace of intensity and drama had disappeared from her pupils, but she stopped his hand, teasing. “Indeed. I would rather fall as me than as any other safe creature in the Nine Realms.” Yes, he was sure of it now, her voice had shed off the magical edge it had only a few minutes ago. He would have to ask her if she controlled it even a little, and why she was so intent on stealing this confession from him. But not now. Now he wanted to hear her cry his name and feel her nails dig into his shoulders. The very expectation of it all made all his muscles hurt. “And,” she added, “you’re helping me fall properly!” She pushed his hand away; _now_ she wanted to play, he realized.

He considered not complying. At all. He didn’t want to be patient. But he couldn’t resist a good verbal sparring, so he smirked. “Oh, in that case you have a substantial advantage over all the safe creatures in the Nine Realms. How many would crave for my help? This isn’t fair for the others!” He reached out for a grape in the bowl on the bedside table and he ate it thoughtfully, waiting for her reaction. He liked these large, green grapes, sour at first but sticky with sugar, full of tiny seeds that tasted of wood when he made them crunch under his teeth.

“You know the meaning of ‘fair’, Loki?” She smiled. “What we’re doing to these people on Earth isn’t fair.”

He chuckled at the mention of the streak of chaos she was leaving on Midgard, his mouth still full of sweet fruit. “What you’re doing to these people on Earth,” he corrected her, sliding a finger up her stomach. “I have no part in that scheme.” He swallowed and plucked another grape.

“Of course you haven’t,” she whispered. “You’re innocent as a dove.” Her hand darted out before he saw it and she stole the grape. _Quicker, too_ , he noticed.

She placed the round fruit between her teeth, pressing the thin, green skin almost to the point of bursting, and he sat up, deliberately making her feel how much he wanted her. She pretended not to notice. “Innocent as a new-born dove,” he said, mouth hovering over hers. “I’ve just cracked my shell, you see. I can’t even feed on my own.” He slipped his tongue between her parted lips to capture the grape and make it roll to its destruction.

“And yet,” she grinned, “who will believe that when they realize all these agents haven’t broken down on their own? Do you think they’ll blame the weaver? No. They will blame the Liesmith.”

He fell back down, rolling his eyes. “How is that fair for me? I’m _always_ taking the blame.” He shook his head. “Never getting anything in return for my trouble.” She was trying to prevent his hands from reaching under her night dress again. A futile endeavour, he wanted to warn her. He would get there eventually, she would let him, she craved for it too much.

"Bad people," she said, "making you pay when you were only trying to make the best out of your situation." He closed a hand around her thigh, his fingers already sensing the heat between her legs, but he didn’t reach further. “This is not fair,” she continued, but despite the perfect control she had over her words, her cheeks were flushed and he smiled. “You just wanted power. You just wanted your rightful place, and it was taken from you, most unjustly.” She leaned over him to lick grape juice that had trickled down his neck. "And I despise injustice," she hissed into his ear, breath tickling his temple. He could feel her breasts brushing on his chest and his body tensed up. Her lips trailed up his jaw; he turned his head to capture them. Their kiss was chaotic, what with her hands sliding down his side and stopping to scratch his hipbones ever so lightly. The grinding of her hips against his when she sat up yet _another_ time was a delight and a torture. “It always makes me want to set things straight,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest.

    He was growing impatient with her game. He’d had enough, and that was always her problem: she never when to stop. But she didn’t try to keep him down when he sat up. The only thing between them was that bed sheet, and it was far too much to his taste. Also, night dress. He proceeded to unfold her arms and discard the unnecessary clothing. “And what is my lady planning to set things straight?” he asked, kissing her collarbone as she ran her sharp fingernails over his back. His words made her moan in satisfaction.

“I don’t think I’ll explain now. It requires concentration to understand and I think you’re not paying enough attention.”

He laughed under his breath. “We can try,” he whispered, trailing a finger around her left nipple and down her stomach, assessing the softness of her skin.

“We can try,” she answered. “We can –” she breathed in sharply when he reached between her folds. She closed her eyes and he teased the small swelling, commanding her to shiver at his touch. “But,” she said, “you’ve already seen what it looks like when – Loki!” she cried.

He smiled; he wanted her unable to speak at all, a quivering heap of raw nerves obeying him. He eased his finger up into her, drenching it in her want, and slid it out again to swipe across her most sensitive spots. She moaned louder. “What it looks like when?” he asked, pressing harder, gliding faster. “I think you forgot part of your sentence, dark one,” he whispered into her ear, taunting.

She gripped his shoulders and looked into his eyes. The lust in there made him lose track of how to breathe evenly. “When I give people a taste of my justice,” she uttered through clenched teeth before closing her eyes and taking hold of his fingers to direct them where she wanted.

He let his hand obey the impulses she was giving and when her lips parted for an unashamed cry he reached up and caught them. Her voice echoed in his mouth before she jerked her head backwards again. “Yes, I have,” he agreed. “And I liked that taste.” She didn’t answer. He detected a familiar pattern in her movements and swiftly placed his arm around her waist to keep her close to him as her spine arched and she screamed, losing control over her own muscles. She would never know how much he liked that he could make her lose herself in such a way. Or maybe she did. It didn’t really matter.

He pulled his hand out and waited for her to open her eyes again, slowly kissing her neck. An idea came to his mind. She had wanted to play, after all, hadn’t she? Let’s see if she still liked it so much. “And does your idea involve me pretend to meekly accept my fate?” he asked, keeping his tone low.

She sighed. “It does, Silvertongue of mine.” He usually hated that name, but the husky accent desire gave to it was a real treat. “But I will only explain if you behave,” she added.

“What do you mean with ‘behave,’ Eileen?” he wondered aloud.

“I mean do what I want.”

He chuckled. “And what do you want?”

“You must kiss me there,” she said, sinking the tip of her forefinger in the notch at the base of her neck. He obeyed, sliding his tongue over the little bones.

“And there,” she added, pressing into her right breast.

He smiled and nipped at the soft skin. “Where else?” he asked, trailing down to her nipple.

“No,” she whispered.

“Why not?”

“Because I said so.”

“I do what I want,” he replied. He kissed her hard, pressing his tongue around hers, and closed his arm tighter around her waist as she shifted to allow him inside. When he entered her she gave a throaty moan and her hands twitched. He pressed her harder against him, wanting to feel her heart pound erratically from the strain he put her through.

She coiled on him, rhythmically, her hips meeting his own thrusts in a dance they knew by heart and yet discovered every time. She wrapped her legs around him, welcoming him deeper inside her core, allowing him to feel every single ripple of her inner muscles. He was losing track of whether he was conducting or she was, and it didn’t matter much.

“Loki!” she breathed out. He almost lost control when he saw he was drawing tears of pleasure from her, but he breathed deeply and enclosed her in his arms. Her legs tightened around his back, knees pressing hard into the bones. She searched for his lips again, crushing them in her violent kisses, stealing blood from the skin she broke with her teeth.

He pinned her hips down even more firmly, trying to spear through her and destroy her last shreds of resistance. She cried his name again, but soon her words were mere nonsense, melting against his tongue, their voices mingling and pouring down each other’s throats.

He ran a hand up her spine and closed it around the nape of her neck, fingers tangling in her hair; she shuddered, but the shudder didn’t stop, it was claiming her from head to toe and he almost got scared as he felt it spread to him too. He couldn’t stop any of it and there was a humming sound in his ears when he understood they were reaching climax at the very same time. She didn’t scream, she just sighed and her arms fell limp, but he couldn’t care less. He was a mess of random skin and bones, he couldn’t even hold her any more, couldn’t even sit straight.

He fell back, truly exhausted, and she tumbled next to him, her breath wild. He turned to his side and nested his head in the nook of her neck, eyes closed, wishing the word would freeze. Her arm closed around him and her cheek came to a rest on his forehead. She was shaking. His Eileen. “Mine,” he whispered, placing a hand just under her navel.

Hers joined it, knotting their fingers together. “Yours,” she breathed back. He kissed her collarbone.

Their skins were red with the light of morning.

 

 


End file.
